


I want to talk about neutrality

by Sanna_Black_Slytherin



Series: (don't) call me son [7]
Category: Hamilton - Miranda
Genre: Alex and John are obvious, Alexander Hamilton is George Washington's Biological Son, Alternate Universe - John Laurens Lives, American Politics, Asexual Frances Laurens, Bisexual Alexander Hamilton, Canon Era, Dysfunctional Family, F/M, Fluff, Frances is Done with allosexuals, Gay John Laurens, Gen, Hamilton and Jefferson are their own warning, Hurt/Comfort, Multi, Period-Typical Homophobia, Period-Typical Racism, Period-Typical Sexism, President Hamilton, Rumours
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-04-02
Updated: 2017-04-02
Packaged: 2018-10-14 00:59:02
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,465
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10525575
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Sanna_Black_Slytherin/pseuds/Sanna_Black_Slytherin
Summary: Hamilton stared at Jefferson in dawning horror, his mind strangely empty of the words that always swirled around, only waiting to be used, distinguishing him even among silver-tongued politicians. Jefferson stared right back. Then, as one, the two men turned to their respective children. "No," they said, for once in complete agreement."Dad," Philip protested, "haven't you heard a word of what we've said?""It's–" Hamilton flailed around helplessly, "–she's aJefferson.""So what?" Philip retorted. "I love her."In which a Hamilton and a Jefferson fall in love, Alexander Hamilton lacks basic impulse control, Laurens doesn't exactly make matters better, the author likes to punch Thomas Jefferson, and Eliza Did Not Sign Up For This Shit.





	

**Author's Note:**

> I've had this in mind for quite a while. I must admit that I rather like how it turned out.
> 
> For the purposes of this story, let's assume that Lucy Jefferson survived her childhood.

Hamilton stared at Jefferson in dawning horror, his mind strangely empty of the words that always swirled around, only waiting to be used, distinguishing him even among silver-tongued politicians. This was so far from what he had expected when he had returned home only to meet Jefferson and his daughter on their porch that it was almost funny – or rather, it would have been funny, had it not been _Thomas Jefferson.  
_

Jefferson stared right back. Then, as one, the two men turned to their respective children. "No," they said, for once in complete agreement.

" _Dad_ ," Philip protested, "haven't you heard a word of what we've said?"

"It's–" Hamilton flailed around helplessly, "–she's a _Jefferson_."

"So what?" Philip retorted, a challenging look in his eye that Eliza swore up and down Philip inherited from his father. "I love her."

"I–" Hamilton turned to face Jefferson, who seemed to have a similar problem.

"Lucy, no," he said sternly.

Lucy glared up at her father defiantly. "I'm endlessly sorry to destroy your illusion, father," she said icily, and Hamilton's opinion of her rose several notches, because, while he had no problem with telling Jefferson exactly where he could stuff his shitty ideas, most other people cowered from the man, yet Lucy Jefferson had no problem facing him head-on, "but your opinion doesn't exactly matter in this."

“Doesn't–" Jefferson sputtered. "Of course it _matters_! I can simply refuse to let you get married! You are my daughter!"

Lucy actually rolled her eyes. "At worst," she said slowly, as though talking to an asinine child, and Hamilton couldn't help but applaud her audacity, "you can refuse to give us your blessing, in which case Philip and I will simply run away," because _of course_ they would. Hamilton sighed, his mind scrambling to come up with another plan.

“Have you told your mother yet?” he asked Philip, who nodded. Hamilton swore under his breath. Had Eliza not known, Hamilton would have stood a chance – however slight it might have been – of convincing her of Philip's foolishness, but Philip, clearly aware of this, had planned ahead, having informed Eliza before tackling his father. “Does she approve?” Hamilton asked, even as he knew the answer – Eliza would approve of anything that brought happiness to their children, even if that someone was related to Thomas Jefferson.

Hamilton– well. He had a different opinion.

“She seemed content with our decision,” Philip said, squeezing Lucy's hand gently. Of course she was. Eliza was an _angel._

“I see that Philip has informed you of his choice of bride,” Eliza's voice came from somewhere behind Hamilton's shoulder.

Hamilton jerked, not having noticed her presence. He turned to face her. “Indeed,” he said somberly. “I heard that you approve." There was disapprobation in his voice.

Eliza smiled. “There is nothing between Philip and Lucy for me to disapprove of. I can see that they make each other happy, and it is enough for me,” she then glanced at Jefferson, her smile becoming fixed but still very much present on her face. “Mr Jefferson, you will be staying for dinner, of course,” she had phrased the question rather more like a statement, giving Jefferson no opportunity to refuse.

Hamilton hid a smile behind his hand, even as he felt dismay over having to socialize with Jefferson for longer than absolutely necessary. Jefferson had made no secret of the fact that he thought that Eliza was simply a pretty face. It was strangely satisfying to see him proven wrong before his very eyes.

“Of course, Mrs Hamilton,” Lucy answered for her father, preempting any attempts to refuse.

“Come in, then." Eliza stood back to let them come in. Philip and Lucy wasted no time in entering the house, while Hamilton and Jefferson lingered outside, determinedly not staring at one another.

“So,” Hamilton said at length. He absentmindedly reflected that this was the longest the two of them had ever been quiet while in each other's company. Miracles would never cease, it seemed.

“So,” Jefferson echoed mockingly, somehow managing to infuse a whole range of opinions in just one word.

Hamilton scowled. “Don't expect me to start to agree with you because of this,” he said resolutely.

“I wouldn't _dare_ ,” Jefferson drawled in that singularly infusing habit of his. “Besides, I wouldn't want your endorsement in any case; better to be condemned by a man of such vice as you, than be approved of by that same man.”

“It is rather hypocritical of you to say that,” Hamilton retorted. “You are a hypocrite – a slaver who espouses freedom to all; an atheist who declares himself to be the champion of God; a rapist who claims that he fights for _love_ ,” Hamilton sneered. “Do not talk to me of _vice_.”

“I think that you will find that, out of all the things you listed – none of which are true, incidentally – not one of them can be found listed as a sin in the Bible,” Jefferson replied smugly. “I do recall one thing that _is_ written down in the Bible, however: Leviticus 18:22. 'Thou shalt not lie with mankind, as with womankind: it _is_ abomination.'” Jefferson quoted. “Or Leviticus 20:13, which has an even harsher tone: 'If a man also lie with mankind as he lieth with a woman, both of them have committed an abomination. They shall surely be put to death: their blood shall be upon them.'”

“Leviticus 18:09,” Hamilton said, smiling viciously. “'Do not have sexual relations with your sister, either your father’s daughter or your mother’s daughter, whether she was born in the same home or elsewhere.' In the eyes of the law, your concubine _is_ your sister, for she is your deceased wife's sister.”

“Oh, but I think you are forgetting something,” Jefferson sneered. “‘Do not take your wife’s sister as a rival wife and have sexual relations with her _while your wife is living_.' Leviticus 18:18, for your information.”

“That line is about _marriage_ ,” Hamilton retorted. “What you are doing is defiling her very being – a crime more heinous than any breach of marital vows you could have committed.”

“Don't you _dare_ imply,” Jefferson hissed, “that I would have broken my marriage vows to Martha. I loved my wife more than anything else in the world, and I have stayed faithful to her memory – unlike _you_ , I might add.”

“Yes, of course,” Hamilton huffed. “How could I forget? A woman _loves it_ when her husband forces her sister into unwanted sexual relations.”

“You would know all about laying with your wife's sister,” Jefferson snorted.

“Do not bring Angelica into this,” Hamilton warned.

“Or what?” Jefferson challenged. “You will continue to throw biblical citations at me? I shudder at the very thought." He made as if to shudder, but the smirk on his face belied his theatrics.

Hamilton's glare intensified. A cough interrupted the two men; at the sound, Hamilton and Jefferson turned as one to look at Eliza, who glanced between them with evident amusement. ”Am I interrupting something?” she said cordially.

”Not at all, Lady Hamilton,” Jefferson replied smoothly. ”Is there anything we can help you with?”

”You can clean yourselves up,” Eliza informed them. ”Dinner will be served shortly. You will be staying, of course, Mr Jefferson,” she repeated flatly. ”I believe that we have a great deal to discuss afterwards.”

Hamilton furrowed his brows, looking around. ”Are Philip and Lucy already in the dining room?” he asked his wife.

Eliza smiled. ”No; I believe that they had been wanting to talk to Frances concerning some legislature or other,” she elaborated. ”Now, if you will excuse me, I have two young women to find."

With that, Eliza exited the room as softly as she had entered it.

Jefferson’s eyes followed her departure. He then chanced a glance in Hamilton’s direction, who, for his part, was watching Eliza’s retreat with something akin to adoration in his eyes. It was sickeningly sweet. ”She is too good for you,” Jefferson remarked offhandedly.

Hamilton bristled, then visibly calmed himself down. ”Indeed she is,” his political opponent agreed. ”I am a lucky man, to have been chosen by her.”

“I do not understand how you can choose a _man's_ company over that of your saint wife,” Jefferson went on.

Hamilton’s expression clouded. ”I believe that we’ve had this conversation before, Jefferson; I’ve told you that nothing untoward is happening in my home.”

”And _I_ know how to recognize a lie when I hear one.”

Hamilton scoffed. ”This doesn’t concern you in the slightest.”

”It does, if my daughter is to be part of your family,” Jefferson retorted. ”I need to know that you won’t be teaching her any sort of reprehensible behaviour.”

Hamilton snorted. ”This kind of behaviour cannot be _taught_ ,” he replied, his tone condescending. ”Or so I’ve been told,” he hurried to add at Jefferson’s triumphant look.

“I must admit that I did not quite believe General Washington when he claimed that you two were at each other's throats at every opportunity, no matter how small,” Frances' voice cut into the conversation. She was leaning against the doorway, her arms crossed in front of her in a distinctly admonishing gesture. “I suppose that I needed visual proof, since I could not fathom that there would be another person as pugnacious as Alexander Hamilton,” she said. Jefferson struggled not to squirm under her icy, calculating stare. “Evidently, I was proven wrong. I am impressed, even as I am simultaneously terrified.”

“Ma'am,” Jefferson replied unctuously, “in the spirit of accuracy, I would like to state that my nature is not a belligerent one; Hamilton simply brings out the worst aspects of my personality – ones that usually stay buried deep beneath the surface,” he assured her.

Frances snorted. “How eloquent of you, Mr Jefferson,” she told him. “I believe that Eliza told you to wash up before dinner,” she phrased the question as a statement.

Jefferson stepped forward. “Pardon me, ma'am, but I do not believe we have been introduced." He offered a hand, shooting a brief glare at Hamilton, as though it was his fault; technically, he wasn't wrong, but Hamilton found that he did not care.

Frances stared at the hand in mild disgust. “My name is Frances Laurens, Mr Jefferson,” she said. When it became apparent to Jefferson that the young woman wouldn't shake his hand, he lowered it.

Jefferson's eyebrows went up. “John Laurens' daughter?” he smirked openly at Hamilton. “How… interesting.”

“Stop being such a ninny, Jefferson,” Hamilton snapped.

“I'll have you know,” Jefferson said primly, “you could not find a single person more _unlike_ a ninny than I.”

Hamilton laughed. “Who fed you that lie?”

“Abigail Adams,” Jefferson informed him. “She had once remarked that I was, in all probability, the most intelligent person alive.”

Hamilton snorted. “Abigail Adams is prejudiced against my person, and has been ever since I set her portrait of Queen Elizabeth I on fire.”

“It was during the one and only private dinner you had with the Adamses, if I recall this correctly,” Frances added indifferently, but there was a gleeful gleam in her eyes. “A pity, too, since Mrs Adams is a very intelligent woman, and I genuinely enjoyed our conversations.”

“Nothing is stopping you from seeking her out for further debates,” Hamilton pointed out.

“Nothing save from the fact that I socialize with you, and, as such, am tainted by your reputation,” Frances stated. “Well, I shall leave you two to your petty bickering, but remember that, should you fail to comply with her wishes, Eliza will be quite cross with you,” she smiled, then turned on her heels and left the room.

Hamilton swallowed, unnerved by the mention of his wife's possible wrath. This led Jefferson to wonder what kind of a relationship laid between the two; clearly, it was a sexual one, judging by the amount of children in the house, even if at least two of them weren't of the Hamilton brood, but Jefferson did wonder whether there were any amorous feelings in addition to that. He did not delude himself into thinking that a physical relationship necessitated an affectionate one, for he himself was no stranger to sexual relations without any feelings attached. He couldn't help thinking of a beautiful woman with long, straight hair contrasting with the violet comforter, of chocolate-brown eyes staring up at him in terror–

Jefferson squashed his thoughts, focusing his attention back on Hamilton, who was now observing Jefferson not unlike the way a cat would lazily observe the mouse it would presently catch and consume. Jefferson didn't like that look. “Well?” he said brusquely, hoping to startle Hamilton out of whatever daze the fool had fallen into.

To his displeasure, Hamilton smirked. “I would not dare to interrupt your thoughts, considering the fact that your brain has finally been able to muster enough nerve impulses to create them.”

“I am impressed that you have taken the time to study human physiology, considering how singularly focused you were on destroying our country's economy before it had the chance to thrive,” Jefferson retorted. “Then again, I suppose that the anatomy of the human male would be of particular interest to you, would it not?”

“For someone who professes that sodomy is a sin,” Hamilton noted, “you certainly make numerous thinly-veiled references to it. It does make a man wonder whether you are compensating for something,” he grinned, his tone somewhat vicious.

Jefferson sputtered. “Are you insinuating that I–“

“Oh, dear Mr Jefferson,” Hamilton said cheerfully, “I am not insinuating anything. Why, have you any untoward thoughts? Towards Mr Madison, perhaps?”

“Good God, I hate you,” Jefferson told Hamilton vehemently, closing his eyes as if to shut out Hamilton's words.

“You do not believe in God,” Hamilton refuted Jefferson's words, “which, come to think of it, is yet another critique of your condemnation of any relationships that do not conform to society's enforced expectations.”

“Do you even hear yourself speak?” Jefferson scowled.

“Ladies, you're both pretty. There's no need to argue,” Laurens said from behind Hamilton, who started. Hamilton turned around, bestowing upon Laurens a brilliant smile bright enough to light up the room.

Any lingering doubts as to the nature of Hamilton and Laurens' exact relationship dissipated from Jefferson's mind. He felt his lips curl up into a smirk. “Well, well, what do we have here?”

“Kindly bugger off,” Hamilton replied, an edge to his voice.

“On second thoughts,” Laurens added, studying Jefferson critically, “only one of you is pretty.”

“ _Laurens_ ,” Hamilton whined. “Do not encourage him.”

“Of the two of us, I do not think that I am the one who encourages him,” Laurens pointed out. “I overheard your previous conversation; you goaded him.”

Jefferson huffed; he did not appreciate being spoken about as though he wasn't present. “Listen to your catamite, Hamilton.”

Hamilton looked up at Jefferson sharply. He smiled softly.

* * *

“Alexander,” Eliza sighed, pressing a palm to her face in exasperation, “I did not expect to ever have had to explain this to an actual adult, let alone my _husband_ , but circumstances being as they are, I will, and you _will_ listen to me,” she glared at her husband, who looked away in shame. “I will not repeat myself, so listen closely,” Eliza took a step towards Hamilton, who instinctively took a step back. “One does not assault one's guests. _Yes_ , this also applies to Jefferson,” she added when Hamilton opened his mouth to object. “And _you_ ,” she whipped her head around to nail Laurens with a scathing glare, “you are no better than he is! You actively encouraged this!”

“Had you been there and had you heard his words, you would have–“ Laurens began speaking.

“ _I do not care, John Laurens,_ ” Eliza hissed. She turned back her attention to Hamilton. “Whether you like it or not, our son will marry Lucy Jefferson. Disagreeing with this match will only create problems, the resolution of which will be an elopement on Philip and Lucy's part. Now, I have witnessed no less than four elopements, all of which arose from my father's disapproval of my sisters' fiancés; I can promise you that the pain of abandonment my mother and father felt was _indescribable_ and utterly _heartbreaking_. I don't want to experience it, and neither do you,” she told him firmly. “Therefore, you _will_ get along with Jefferson, if only for the sake of Philip's happiness. You will refrain from insulting him; you will refrain from arguing with him; you will refrain from goading him. In short you will refrain from any kind of negative interaction with Thomas Jefferson.”

“The man is incapable of exhibiting positive emotions where I am involved,” Hamilton complained.

“That is a testimony to _your_ character, rather than his, if he cannot apply any constructive words to you,” Eliza retorted. “Sometimes, I even agree. If you cannot muster any favourable words, do not speak at all. That applies to _you_ as well, John,” she added sharply.

“Yes, ma'am,” Hamilton and Laurens said in unison.

* * *

“I do not believe that you've shared the story of how you've met,” Eliza said lightly in an attempt to kindle a conversation. Hamilton and Jefferson were still glaring daggers at each other from across the table. Jefferson looked like he was approximately two seconds away from hurling the knife in his hand at Hamilton, while Eliza's husband had a look in his eyes that Eliza recognized all too well: he was eyeing Jefferson's face speculatively, as though imagining the ways in which he could leave a bruise on Jefferson's right cheekbone to match the one he was beginning to sport on his left one.

“Well, mother,” Philip said, grinning like a fool; he exclusively seemed oblivious to the tension around the table, “you've always told me that, should I choose to marry, my wife should be my intellectual equal, willing to have a discussion, and willing to question me when I do something dumb. You've told me that intelligence and the strength to defend one's own opinions are desirable qualities, and that I should find a woman that will debate with you, that I'll enjoy learning together with. Lucy is all that, and more,” he looked at Lucy, infatuation evident in his eyes. “And I love her very, very much.”

Hamilton snorted but, at Eliza's pointed look, didn't say anything.

“In any case, your father and I am offering you our blessing,” Eliza smiled gently, ignoring her husband..

“Really?” Philip's voice was so hopeful that even Hamilton's hard disapproving look faltered, if for a second. “You are?”

“You sound surprised,” Eliza said.

“Well…” Lucy trailed off, looking between her father and the man who was president, uncertainty in her eyes. “Our fathers are rather infamous for their– rivalry,” she winced.

“That is a mild way of putting it,” Frances agreed; Theodosia hid her smile behind her dress sleeve, while Angelica and Philip exchanged amused glances.

“I have nothing against Washington,” Jefferson finally said.

“ _Hamilton,_ " Hamilton retorted.

“ _Right_ ,” Jefferson smirked. “The bastard still tries to distance himself from his father.”

“ _Alexander, don't_ ,” Eliza warned when she saw Hamilton's furious look. She then leveled her glare at Jefferson. “Mr Jefferson, I would greatly appreciate it if you would abstain from insulting my husband and my father-in-law at every turn. You are our guest, sir, but it is still _our_ home.”

Jefferson inclined his head in the mockery of an apology. “Pardon me, ma'am.”

“In all honesty, I grow weary of your constant bickering. You will need to find some kind of neutral ground, or, failing that, learn to tolerate each other for the sake of your children,” Eliza said coldly.

“My daughter could do so much better than a _Hamilton_ ,” Jefferson sneered.

“How dare you–“ Laurens hissed, speaking for the first time since sitting down to dinner.

“Be that as it may,” Eliza said, “she did not choose _anyone else_ , Mr Jefferson. She chose Philip, and, unless your wish is to alienate your daughter from your life entirely, you will need to accept that.”

“How can I accept the fact that my youngest daughter's wish is to marry the son of a sodomite?” Jefferson all but snarled, his voice louder than intended.

This time, Eliza wasn't quite fast enough to stop Laurens from lounging for Jefferson across the table. The taller man made a sound of surprise as his body was dragged half-way across the dinner table. “ _You_ –“ Laurens hissed. “How dare you speak–“

“Do it,” Jefferson challenged him with a whisper. “Hit me. I know that you are simply inching for it, _Colonel_ Laurens.”

“Don't,” Eliza stood up. “Alexander, if you so much as move, I _will_ make sure that you regret this. John, let go of Mr Jefferson. This is your only warning.”

Reluctantly, Laurens let go of Jefferson, though he continued to glare at the taller man. “Eliza, you heard what this travesty of a human being said!” he retorted.

“I did,” Eliza snapped, “but that is no excuse for leaping _straight to violence_ – especially since his accusations are, in a way, true.”

“Betsey–“ Hamilton started.

“We _will_ be having this conversation, Alexander,” Eliza gently but firmly silenced her husband, “since Mr Jefferson is clearly fascinated with the subject, and will not let go of the matter until it is settled.”

Jefferson flushed. “I am not 'fascinated' with anything,” he denied.

Eliza raised an eyebrow. “Indeed? Your frequent allusions to my husband's infidelity would say otherwise.”

“So you _do_ know,” Jefferson said triumphantly.

Eliza snorted. “Of course I do; Alexander and John have been together for longer than Alexander has been my husband. Besides, I doubt that Alexander would have been able to have an affair without me discovering it – he is many things, but _subtle_ is not one of them.”

“How can you be supportive of this– this _madness_?” Jefferson narrowed his eyes. “You claim that it has gone on for longer than you have known Hamilton, which would make _you_ the intruder, and yet you accept their immoral proclivities.”

Frances sighed. “Do I really need to be present for this?” she asked rhetorically, her voice drowning in Hamilton and Jefferson's shouts. “I do not wish to know the specifics of my father's sexual activities.”

“If I have to stay, so do you,” Philip hissed into her ear.

“You brought this upon yourself the moment you announced your intent to marry Jefferson's daughter,” Frances replied in the same manner.

“And what do you propose I would have done?”

“Aside from _not marrying her_?” Frances deadpanned.

“We are all aware of your disdain for marriage, Frances,” Philip rolled his eyes. “Yes, _aside_ from that.”

“ _Elope_ , you imbecile. Tell them afterward,” Frances told him. “It seems to have worked out for your aunts.”

“Mother would have been devastated,” Philip reminded her.

Frances snorted. “That was still a choice you made,” she stood up. “Still, no one orders you to stay and listen. If they are determined to act like children, let them. Lucy, are you coming?”

Unobtrusively, the five adolescents left the room, breathing a sigh of relief as the door closed behind them. Not for the first time, Frances was grateful for Martha Washington, and for the fact that the older woman had taken in the younger Hamilton children for the week. What a nightmare this would have been to explain to them, had they overheard.

Meanwhile, the argument had devolved into a screaming match.

“What _do_ you want to know, Jefferson?” Hamilton spat. “That I am fornicating with John on a daily basis? Do you, truly? Well, then, here is your confirmation: _yes, I am_! I enjoy the feel of his tight arse, especially as I push my cock into–“

“I never imagined that this level of depravity could come out of your mouth, you piece of Federalist–“ Jefferson bristled.

“What did you imagine would come out of my mouth, then?” Hamilton challenged. “Have you imagined me on my knees, taking your length–“

“Notwithstanding the depravity of the act, you would never be able to take my–“

“ _Enough!_ ” Eliza's voice cut through the shouting. Hamilton chanced a look at his wife. She was livid, her eyes shining with unbridled fury the likes of which he had never seen on her. “Be quiet. If you speak another word, I _will_ divorce you,” she threatened Hamilton in so serious a voice that he froze on the spot, “and I will make sure that the New York Post finds out the exact nature of your relationship with Sally Hemings,” she told Jefferson, who paled considerably. “I do not care about what your views are on the morality of a relationship between two people of the same sex, Mr Jefferson. All I care about is keeping my family safe and sound. That includes John Laurens, his daughter, and, as of this afternoon, your daughter. You may rest assured that my husband's relationship with the colonel – which is fully consensual on all of our parts, by the way, not that it is any of your business – will in no way affect Lucy.”

Eliza was beyond grateful that, as a consequence of living in the newly-built presidential quarters, they did not have to worry about nosy neighbours overhearing this, because _boy would it have been a mess to explain_.

“As for why I allow this to continue?” Eliza snorted. “John Laurens completes Alexander; even I can see it. I may be his wife, but he is no less the other love of his life, and I will not deprive Alexander of something so precious. If John can satisfy my husband in ways that I cannot–“ At that, Jefferson choked. Eliza's eyes narrowed. “Oh, get your mind out of the gutter, Mr Jefferson. I meant it in an intellectual way – in providing a comradeship I wouldn't be able to even _imagine_. But yes, I suppose that John also provides a physical closeness which Alexander would have been unable to find with me, and I would very much prefer for him to find it with a man I trust than in a complete stranger.

“I believe that you want your daughter's happiness – a happiness which is intricately interwoven with her future husband's happiness, which, in turn, is woven together with my husband's continued presence among the living. But, if that does not convince you, let me put it in another way,” she cleared her throat. “'Let him who is without sin be the first to throw a stone'. You are very far from without sin, Thomas Jefferson.”

“My sin is not comparative–“ was as much as Jefferson could get out before Eliza once again cut him off.

“You believe that your sin is better?” Eliza quirked an eyebrow, daring Jefferson to continue. “How do you compare sins? How do you justify sexual assault, a breach of privacy so great that it defies description, while at the same time condemning consensual love? Why is _love_ between two men a greater sin than the violation of a person's very essence of being? Should we begin to judge _all_ manners of emotions? Why do we persecute two people of the same sex simply for falling in love with each other – a process they cannot control? In France – in your very favourite country – those kinds of relationships are permitted under law, and have been for over ten years now. Why should _our_ country seek to renounce a love that is just as pure – or just as filthy, for the matter – as that between a man and a woman?”

Jefferson's words were caught in his throat; look as he might, he was not able to find fault in Eliza's argument. Jefferson had long thought that, out of the Schuyler sisters, Angelica was the one to inherit the bulk of the Schuyler wit, but Elizabeth Schuyler Hamilton proved him wrong – and in the most effective way possible: by prematurely defeating any counterarguments he might have voiced. Hamilton truly did not deserve his wife.

“Now,” Eliza said in a considerably calmer tone, “we will sit down and finish the dinner, during which I will not be hearing a word out of any of you, after which you,” she glared at Jefferson, “will tell your daughter that you give her your blessing,” there was an unspoken threat behind her words. “After that, I will not be hearing a word from any of you on this subject, and neither will the press. That goes for _everything_ we have discussed,” she added, making eye contact with her husband as if to show that she knew what he had been thinking.

Jefferson nodded courtly. “Yes, Lady Hamilton.”

“Under any other circumstances, this is when I would tell you that you may call me Eliza, seeing as we will be family,” Eliza's smile was chilly, “but I do not believe that you have earned that privilege yet, Mr Jefferson. You will have to prove that you deserve it first.”

* * *

Once Jefferson had left to speak with his daughter, Eliza sagged against Hamilton, who caught her and lowered her onto one of the couches. She glared at him as he sat down beside her, Laurens on his other side. “What were you two _thinking_?” she spoke angrily. “This is _Thomas Jefferson_. Do not antagonize him without reason.”

“He started it,” Hamilton said stubbornly. “I refuse to apologize for something that is not my fault.”

“Regardless of who started it, you ought not have gone along with it,” Eliza told him. She let out a tired sigh. “He was goading you, Alexander, into admitting your relationship with John. Into admitting _our_ relationship with John,” she amended upon seeing the consternated look on Laurens' face. “And yet, like a sheep on its way to slaughter, you went along with it. You all but screamed it out for anyone to hear, long before I even breached the subject.”

“Betsey–“ Hamilton's right hand sneaked its way on top of Eliza's left palm; she snatched it away.

“Don't 'Betsey' me,” she snapped. “You are a foolish man, Alexander Hamilton, and sometimes, I wonder why I had married you.”

Hamilton sighed. “In hindsight, I realize that it was not my brightest moment–“ Laurens snorted, and Hamilton scowled at the interruption, “–but it was not unwarranted.”

Laurens leaned his head onto Hamilton's shoulder, absentmindedly twirling a few stray hairs from Hamilton's ponytail between his fingers. “I believe what our dear Eliza is trying to convey is that she wishes for you to make your peace with Jefferson.”

“For you as well, dear Laurens,” Hamilton nuzzled his lover's ear. Laurens sighed in contentment as Hamilton nibbled on Laurens' earlobe.

Eliza groaned. “Can you two not even constrain yourselves for half an hour?” she said rhetorically, clearly not awaiting an answer. “Never mind,” she waved her hand dismissively. “Just– behave. That's all I ask of you.”

The trio waited in silence for an indeterminate period of time – it might have been five minutes just as well as five hours – before footsteps alerted them to the fact that someone, probably Jefferson, was coming down the stairs. Eliza threw her husband and his partner a contemplative look, considering whether she ought to tell them to create some distance between them, but gave up; it wasn't as if any one of the people inside the house wasn't aware of their peculiar liaison.

Jefferson descended the stairs. He nodded at Eliza stiffly, then addressed Hamilton. “I have consecrated our children's union,” he said neutrally. Evidently, whatever his daughter had told Jefferson, it had moved him more than Eliza's words. “With any luck, I will not be forced to endure your company until the wedding itself.”

“Likewise, Jefferson,” Hamilton returned in what he deemed a polite enough tone. From Eliza's look, it still wasn't quite right.

“Enjoy your extramarital buggery,” Jefferson said in lieu of a goodbye.

“Enjoy fornicating with your slave concubine,” Laurens shot back.

Eliza sighed, then stood up. She offered her hand to Jefferson, who stared at it as though it was a snake poised, ready to strike at the slightest movement. “Goodbye, Mr Jefferson,” Eliza said pointedly.

Jefferson looked up at her face. Steeling himself, he shook her hand. “Goodbye, Lady Hamilton; Mr President; Senator Laurens,” he inclined his head slightly.

Eliza showed Jefferson out. Once the door closed behind him, Hamilton drew in a long breath, then let it out. “Good riddance,” he said resolutely.

Laurens resumed nibbling on Hamilton's earlobe, producing a quiet moan from the shorter man. They probably would have gone further, had Eliza's pointed cough not stayed Laurens' lips. Hamilton looked up at his wife. “Betsey?” he said in confusion.

“Save this for later, gentlemen,” Eliza said. For the first time since Jefferson entered their residence, the smile on her face was genuine. “We have a future daughter-in-law to get to know.”

**Author's Note:**

> Probably only interesting to med students interested in history: people knew that electricity played a part in brain functions as far back as in the second half of the 18th century, and a physician in the 16th century proposed that the brain contained seven brain nerves (which, granted, was pretty far off, but still, got to give him kudos), so it's not entirely impossible that both Hamilton and Jefferson were aware, on some level, that electric nerve impulses were required to create patterns we call thoughts.
> 
> Thoughts? Good? Bad? In-character? Awkward?


End file.
